


Each Day You're Alive (Is Another Day To Slip)

by TimesBeingWhatTheyAre



Series: Where no man has gone before [4]
Category: Star Trek, Star Trek: The Original Series
Genre: Episode Tag, Episode: s02e25 Bread and Circuses, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-23
Updated: 2020-10-23
Packaged: 2021-03-08 20:14:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27162349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TimesBeingWhatTheyAre/pseuds/TimesBeingWhatTheyAre
Summary: Following s2 e25 'Bread and Circuses'Spock was not distracted by the events of the day, and most certainly not upset over any comments made to him by McCoy.So why was it that he couldn’t concentrate?
Relationships: Leonard "Bones" McCoy & Spock, Leonard "Bones" McCoy/Spock, pre-slash - Relationship
Series: Where no man has gone before [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2012116
Comments: 5
Kudos: 75





	Each Day You're Alive (Is Another Day To Slip)

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so I've fallen into TOS Star Trek, and in love with pretty much all Spock ships. This episode was great, and I didn't see enough appreciation for it in the fanfiction...so I've once again gone and done my own.
> 
> As usual, very self-indulgent, although I have tried my best to keep it in character.
> 
> Enjoy!

Spock sat at his desk, microscope focused on his latest project. It was a plant cell from a recent scientific expedition on Pulonia, where the trees sang and the flowers danced, all the while producing a toxin that meant no animal had yet managed to evolve into being there. It was deadly to humans too, perhaps even Vulcans, but also detectable from their sensor readings and so it had been a simple expedition, done in protective gear.

Fascinating, truly.

So why was it that he couldn’t focus on it?

Spock leant back from the sample, steepling his hands in front of him as he mentally ran through a list of reasons that could cause a lack of focus. He was usually an expert in filtering out distraction, so the human concept of ‘something else on the mind’ was clearly not applicable. He was not distracted by the events of the day, and certainly not upset over any comments made to him by McCoy.

Illness was possible, although improbable with his biology. Thirst, doubtful, he had drunk recently after all. Pain, non-existent and non applicable. Perhaps hunger then?

Spock considered for a moment, recalling his last meal, and noting that it had not been within the past day. No consequence to him, but the beginnings of hunger did seem likely (far more so than any consideration of ‘emotion’. He was a Vulcan, after all).

Problem solved, Spock stood from the desk, careful not to knock the specimen or the microscope, and walked to the door, noticing as he did that it was early morning, very early morning, and thus Gamma shift would be on. With the exception of the science lab, he rarely interacted with the humans on Gamma shift, which would enable the necessary diversion of food to take a short period of time. McCoy and the captain would likely also be asleep.

Good.

The door slid open with a quiet hiss, and Spock stepped out into the corridor, not bothering to look back into his chambers as he began his path to the meal sector of the ship, and allowing his mind to automatically adjust his bio-sensors to regulate his body temperature properly with the lower temperature of the human living conditions.

The lights buzzed faintly around him as he walked, and the corridors were emptier than usual. They tried to keep the majority of the crew on a day schedule due to the adjustment that would otherwise be required when boarding planets, so this time saw fewer people on duty.

The mess hall, too, was emptier, although still fairly loud as Spock walked in and over to the food synthesisers. He pressed the buttons and waited for the hatch to open, picking up the plate and turning around, eyes scanning the room emotionlessly and picking the empty table at the end.

He walked over to it with his food, meal option 2 of the 3 Vulcan specialties available on board, taking no notice of the humans around him.

That did not mean, however, that his hearing had somehow ceased to function.

“Oh, great. The Vulcan’s here” he heard a voice mutter, two tables back and perhaps under the impression that his earshot was as limited as that of a human.

“He can probably hear you,” a second voice whispered back harshly, and Spock sat at his chosen table, facing away from the crewmen.

“No, he’s a halfbreed remember? All the evil of a Vulcan and none of the benefits,”

Spock let out a breath in a manner that might have been considered a sigh (if it came from a human) and turned around calmly.

“I am capable of hearing you. Please desist your distraction,” he said blankly, loud enough to be heard by the two humans in question, and with the side-effect of distracting more of the room from their meals.

He turned back to his food. It was not his favourite, but the fruit of the Toibel tree was rare on planets that were not Vulcan, and therefore it was perfectly satisfactory in terms of calories and vitamins.

“I told you!” the second voice from earlier hissed, and the first crew scoffed loudly.

“As if I care. Anyway, it’s not like he has any emotions. Vulcans have no heart,” it said matter-of-factly, and Spock frowned at the logic. 

He continued to eat his food, efficiently consuming it within a few minutes, and all the while, the conversation carried on. It wasn’t like he cared what they said, even though many of their words reminded him of ones that he had heard in his youth, and illogically he felt a mild desire to react to the words that they used to describe his mother.

However, their logic irritated him. Finished with the meal, Spock stood and walked over to the humans, staring down at them emotionlessly.

“Your logic is flawed. Why do you use conflicting assumptions to create a conclusion?” he queried, curious to either further his understanding or correct their misunderstanding.

“What?” one of the humans responded, one with short blonde hair and a mole on his cheek.

“Your logic. You have said both that I am a half-breed and therefore do not have Vulcan senses, but also that I am a Vulcan and do not have a heart. How can you perceive both to be true?”

“Well- I-” he blustered, and Spock frowned as he realised that there was no explanation to be had.

“I see,” he stated, turning away from the small collection of humans and walking over to the back of the room, placing his empty food tray in its slot and allowing the machine to whisk it away for cleansing.

He walked back past the crewmen on his way out, and did not bother to look at them. He no longer had any interest in discussion with them.

“I wish he wouldn’t come in here. Him and his pointy-ears gives me the creeps,” another person muttered, just as he reached the door, and he paused for a moment, suppressing quickly the flash of hurt that tried to flare up behind his shields.

He frowned, and hurriedly continued on his way, ignoring the resonance to the words from earlier, the ones that accused him of being afraid, afraid to slip and show emotions or be human. It was irrelevant.

Clearly, he needed meditation.

Behind him, on one of the tables, McCoy stood up angrily, watching his friend practically flee (by his standards) and turned to face the crewmen that had been making some of the comments.

“So,” he began, walking over so that he could loom over the main idiots. “Whose idea was that?”

* * *

Spock breathed deeply, his eyes closed and mind light as he worked through his meditation, shields lowered slightly to make the task of ensuring his deeper...instincts were hidden away.

He was around halfway through (according to his internal clock) when he was interrupted by a knock on the door, and the voice of McCoy, unusually polite.

“Spock, can I come in?” the man asked, sound a little muffled through the door, and Spock opened his eyes, unused to being interrupted in the middle of meditation, but curious to find out what the man wanted.

He ignored any part of his brain that flinched away from the memory of the cell earlier, and the way he had been completely seen through.

There was no reason not to let the doctor in.

“Yes, doctor?” he replied, unfolding his limbs and standing up as the door opened and McCoy walked in, his blue eyes shadowed with something that Spock didn’t quite understand.

“I was just thinking...I said some pretty harsh things to you earlier. I didn’t think about it earlier but…”

“What you said was quite reasonable, if inaccurate,” Spock cut off, staring calmly at McCoy, who frowned deeper.

“No, it was rude of me. I heard some people talking earlier, and I realised that...well...I’m not the only one who says stuff like that to you, am I?” McCoy asked, and Spock inclined his head.

“Of course not, doctor. However, I am a logical being and mere words have no affect on me,”

“Yeah, right. You can pull that one on everyone else, but you don’t fool me with that ‘emotionless’ shtick,” McCoy scoffed, rolling his eyes. “They’ll all be thinking about their words twice for a while, that’s for sure,”

Spock frowned, eliciting to ignore the second half of the sentence. “There is no ‘shtick’, as you put it. Just because your human mind cannot fathom-”

“I was completely right earlier then,” McCoy cut him off, and Spock ceased his speech for a moment.

“Would you mind explaining that statement?” he asked, tone gaining a slight edge even as he fought to suppress it.

“Insecurity. You really are-”

“No, doctor, you are incorrect as usual. I agree that logically, the longer an individual lives, the more likely they are to create mistakes, but I am a Vulcan and do not make mistakes.” Spock explained, and McCoy rolled his eyes.

“Spock would you just shut it for a min-”

“Doctor, if you would do me the reasonable favour of leaving that would be-”

“You must admit, you do have human emotions-”

“I admit to nothing of the sort, you are once again making conjecture-”

“I saw you earlier! You were upset!”

“A mere mistake on your part, I am sure-”

“Would you just-” McCoy stepped forwards and made a motion towards Spock, catching him off-guard and making contact with the bare skin on the back of his hand.

Spock froze, throwing up his mental-shields, which had been lowered due to his interruption part-way through meditation, but it was too late. Instantly, his telepathy flared out and ran into the wall of McCoy’s emotions, anger primarily, coloured with tones of frustration and guilt, a slight amusement at their argument, and rapid confusion.

“Spock?” McCoy asked, and he stumbled back, breaking the contact and breathing heavily.

For his part, McCoy had really only been intending to apologise for his words earlier. He knew he wasn’t wrong in his assessment of Spock, but it was rude of him to put it in quite so blunt a fashion and-

Well, he wasn’t one to admit it, but the words of the crewmen in the mess hall had shocked him. He knew he said stuff along the same lines, but Spock knew that they were in jest, not serious. The genuine viciousness of the comments were different, and McCoy wasn’t a fool. Spock had been frustrated down in that cell, and upset as he walked out that room.

He knew Spock well enough to recognise the slight line of tension in his shoulders and the momentary hurt creasing his face as he turned away, and so McCoy had come to make something right at least.

It was just that he was incapable of not pushing.

And now-

In the split moment of skin-to-skin contact, McCoy had suddenly been overwhelmed with a sense of hurt and fear, anger skirting the outsides of the feeling, but mostly just intense upset and, yes, fear.

“Spock?” he asked again, looking up to see Spock looking down, and he computed what had happened.

That had been Spock’s emotions he had felt. It had never happened that somehow he could sense emotions through physical contact, but he had known that Spock had the ability.

McCoy blinked rapidly. How strange, to have factual proof of emotion. More than that, proof of intense emotion as well, and he tried to adjust his world view to the fact that his friend went around a lot of the time with underlying and lingering hurt-

“I didn’t realise-” he began, then focused more closely on Spock and the way that he was still breathing rapidly and looking at the floor. He looked stunned, almost in shock, and Leonard took a step forward to place his hand carefully on the covered skin of the Vulcan’s shoulder.

“Are you listening to me?” he asked, studying the alien intently, and furrowing his brow in indecision, glancing back to the closed door and then to Spock.

“Sit,” he ordered, pushing him firmly onto the bed and taking a seat next to him, allowing him to recover from the shock of the sudden telepathic contact, even as he himself remembered with a flash of guilt that hurt that he had caused with his insistent words.

‘Afraid of living’, that’s what he’d accused. He just hadn’t wanted to realise that it was true.

McCoy pulled his scanning device from his pocket, and held it up next to Spock, frowning as it reported that the heart was racing, even for Spock’s standards, and oxygen levels were increasing too much.

“Spock, I need you to breathe normally,” he ordered, but there was no change, the Vulcan instead beginning to breathe even more rapidly.

“Damnit,” he growled, closing his eyes for a moment and attempting to calm himself, then reaching out and firmly pressing down on Spock’s hand.

Immediately, as before, he felt Spock’s emotions, but this time he ignored the strange sensation of roiling fear and tried to focus on his own emotions. There was an odd disconnect, and somehow he could feel his own heart thumping and lungs constricting, but McCoy knew it wasn’t him, and breathed calmly instead.

It took a minute, but soon McCoy felt Spock’s emotions growing more distant, wrestled somewhat back into control, although he was beginning to wonder if that meditation thing that Vulcans did had more effect than he had realised.

“My apologies, doctor. It won’t happen again,” Spock said stiffly, standing and turning away from his friend. “You may leave.”

“Spock, you know when I said...well you- you don’t actually want to- to die, right?” McCoy asked, his medical professionalism at an all time low as he studied his friend’s back.

“That would be illogical,” Spock replied tersely, but he still didn’t face the physician.

“Yes, it would be...but as we’ve just established, you do also have emotions,”

“Of course I do not. That is a human trait. I am superior,” Spock stated.

“Spock, you know that Jim and I both knew already that you have emotions...if you slip around us, we don’t think less of you. In fact, we think more,” McCoy said honestly.

“You don’t understand.” Spock said blankly.

McCoy’s eyebrows shot up in interest. “What don’t I understand?” he asked.

“I- cannot have emotions,” Spock repeated. “I am a Vulcan. I have no emotions,”

“You’re a half-Vulcan! You’re allowed emotions!” McCoy cried out, and stumbled back as Spock grabbed his arm tightly. 

“Do not-” he cut himself off, throat working, and McCoy stared back at him steadily.

“Spock. They are in the wrong for mocking you and calling you half-breed. I am- in the wrong for some of my comments. _You are allowed emotions_ ,” he insisted, and Spock turned away abruptly, tremors running through his tall frame even as McCoy stood there.

“You’re my friend, Spock. Half-Vulcan or not, you think we care?”

Turned away, Spock pressed his lips tightly together as his eyes illogically began to water. There was no reasonable cause for it, but for some reason, it wouldn’t stop. 

“I have- no emotions-” he insisted, but the effect was somewhat lessened by the way his voice broke halfway through the statement.

McCoy’s eyes widened behind him, and the doctor stepped forwards hesitantly, then placing a comforting hand on Spock’s shoulder as he fought to regain his precious control, shoulders shuddering silently as his hands balled up into tight fists at his side.

“We care. You and your pointy-ears better remember that, because as your friend, I like to see you show emotion. It’s not something to be afraid of, Spock.”

They stood in silence for a while longer, until Spock abruptly forced himself to stand straight again, still not looking McCoy’s way even as the doctor took his hand off his shoulder.

“...Thank you, doctor.”

“I have a name, you know.” McCoy grumbled insincerely, and felt an unwilling smile twist at his lips at the response.

“Thank you...Leonard,”

“...No I was wrong, that’s just weird. I’ll let you get back to your mysterious hobgoblin ways,” McCoy brushed off, smile still irrepressible at the corners of his lips as he began to walk away.

Spock listened to him go, and despite the awfulness of the past few hours, there in the private of his room, he allowed himself a small smile.


End file.
